My friends, especially Kagee, tell me that I’m hard to please when it comes to food. Not sure if that’s true, but let’s just say that it’s a good thing that I’m not a restaurant critic because if I were, people would lock the doors before I walked in.
Example: last September, a few of us went to The Melting Pot to celebrate Cartier’s birthday. For those of you unfamiliar – it’s a “fondue” restaurant where you have a choice of oil or broth in which to cook your food.
First of all, I don’t like food that looks too “uniform” when it’s prepared. It’s nice if it’s pretty- but I’m a sucker for the perfection of imperfection. So when I saw chunks of meat that had a cookie cutter look to them, I was less than enchanted. Then there was the shrimp. It tasted fishy. And so on. So when HTH later mentioned wanting to go back there, I casually let it drop that I thought the food was “revolting.” This coupled with my antipathy for all (or most) chain restaurants make me an annoying person to dine with.
But last night, when a few of us went down the shore to Avon By the Sea to celebrate Soffeea’s birthday, I vowed to eat whatever was put in front of me, no matter how much I hated it, because I knew that if I didn’t, Kagee would roll her eyes and tell me that I was “impossible.”
I could tell she was giving me the eye when I was a little annoyed that earlier in the evening, the bartender had never heard of a sidecar, a mojito or a caipirnina. A sidecar I could accept – but a mojito? And the National drink of Brazil? “What’s it called?,” she said to Kagee, “A caperdillo?” At that point, I suspended expectations and leaned into the whole “Jersey Shore” scene with big-haired over-bedazzled middle-aged women dancing and singing as our friend Joel (not to be confused with Billy Joel) played “Brown Eyed Girl” for probably the ten millionth time that week, glancing imploringly at the non-caipirnina knowledgeable bartender for another Bud Light with a tequila chaser.
Once at dinner, I really felt like ordering steak, but didn’t dare. The last time I had steak at Morton’s in New York I found it to be tough and flavorless (and brought most of it home to Deva), so there was no way I was going to order one at a seaside resort restaurant in South Jersey. One would think that ordering seafood in a shore town at a place where there was a lot of turnover would be “safe.” It would, one would think, at least be fresh. And it’s almost impossible to screw up squid or shrimp (or so I thought).
But when I ordered some type of seafood concoction with fra diavolo sauce over pasta (shrimp, squid, scallops) – it was all that I could do to swallow it. Everything was tough, the pasta was gummy, and the shrimp tasted like it had come out of a can. I was wishing I was at home, eating Mrs. Paul's Deviled crabs and watching a Law and Order Marathon. Of course, I acted like I thought it was great, picked at it, and diverted the attention by talking about – I don’t know – the weather? Sex? Anything so I wouldn’t have to hear the “You don’t like anything,” speech. Oh and by the way – the bread was stale, cold and tasted vaguely like drywall – I took one bit and discreetly spit it into my napkin.
But since I’m a complete advocate for the adage “Life is Uncertain – Eat Dessert First” and since it was Soffeea’s birthday – I knew that if I got through the food – there would be a valid reason to order everything on the dessert menu. I mean –s he was turning 50 – what choice did I have?
Kagee and I both love key lime pie, and the mere thought of it made my heart sing. So I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room and asked the waitress to bring some – in addition to a lava cake – to our table and sing happy birthday to Soffeea.
What seemed like two hours later, the waitress arrived at the table with lukewarm key lime pie that tasted like it had been left out in the rain (and she couldn’t get the recipe again, oh no) – and lava cake that wasn’t hot or explosive – sans candles.
Still – I didn’t say much – just smiled and started talking about how 9 out of 10 women fake orgasm (again – to divert the attention away from my picky eating habits).
Thank heaven for Kagee though – she made a face the second she tasted the key lime pie and said “This is disgusting.” I almost kissed her on the lips.
“YES!” I said, “It SUCKS! YES – it’s TERRIBLE!”
So we agree that somehow – someway – later in the night – we would have “real” dessert. At that point, I would have settled for M&Ms from 7-Eleven because my chocolate jones was acting up.
The night progressed, and we later ended up at Pier Village at a dessert café. I was nothing short of ecstatic just glancing through the glass (as an old Italian man sang Frank Sinatra songs). Kagee and I asked about every dessert and one looked better than the next.
Finally, since I order not one but TWO things – a black forest cupcake and vanilla gelato. Kagee got peanut butter chocolate biscotti.
And – everything sucked. I took one bite of the stale black forest cake with its plastic frosting and Smuckers’ cherry preserves and said “that’s it – I’m not meant to have dessert.” Never mind the gelato; it tasted like Sealtest (remember that?) after it had survived freezer burn.
Kagee was, at that point, ready to lecture me – or at least roll her eyes – but then she bit into the biscotti.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to taste like this,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “try it.”
So I did. And I figured out another way to spit it out discretely.
“Gee,” I thought, “I would have been a good bulimic back in the day.”
The bad news is that none of my food cravings were satisfied, and when I finally got home, I ended up eating peanut butter out of the jar and at least 6 “sugar free” popsicles. The good news is that even after a weekend binge I don’t have to worry about taking on another half hour to my “already pushing it” workout tomorrow.
And now?
There’s Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream in the freezer, which I bought for Dylan and if he doesn’t come home soon, I might have to eat it and tell him “the dog did it.” Either that or I’ll pop an ambien and call it a night.
Here is what you need to make a caipirnina:
1 lime
2 Ounces Cachaca (rum, baby)
2 Tablespoons White Granulated Sugar
Crushed Ice
Cut lime into 8 pieces. Muddle lime and sugar in the bottom of a glass or cocktail shaker. Add rum. Add about 1 cup crushed ice. Cover and shake vigorously. Garnish with lime.
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